VOL.  I              NO.  21                          DELHI,  THURSDAY                                    FEBRUARY  4,  1943.



 By PVT. ROGER L. WHEELER   Roundup Staff Writer
  More bombs for Burma, served up as though on a regular time-table schedule, continued to be dealt out this week upon Japanese installations by the India Air Task Force.
  The Nips hadn't even set about clearing away wreckage of previous Tenth Air Force sprees before more bombers swung into their old routine against railways, docks and warehouse supply stations.
  A fighter formation on Jan. 25, made a low-level attack against a concentration of small locomotives at Naba Junction. Hits were reported on eight of the engines, only one of which had steam up.
  Supplementary information on the raid on Rangoon, the day before, was that a 6,000-ton vessel, previously reported as having received two direct hits, was seen burning in mid-stream.
  A mission over Rangoon on Jan. 26, reported a number of hits in the wharf area. Enemy fighters were thwarted in their attempt at interception, Another bomber formation attacked concentrations of rolling stock in the railroad yards at Mandalay.
  On the same day, still other bombers, some with fighter escorts, struck at several points of rail communications in northern Burma. A bridge at Shaduzup was reported to have been seriously damaged, if not

With all the new restrictions on cloth, somebody with little to do in Hollywood dreamed up this bridal costume.  Hazel Brooks, of the movies, models it.
destroyed after hits and near-misses with light bombs. At Meza, bombs were dropped on a steep embankment causing interruption to traffic. At Naba Junction, the roundhouse and rolling stock were bombed and strafed. A moving train was damaged. Two large fires were left burning.
  Again, Rangoon docks were the target on Feb. 1, as bombers blasted large warehouses and left fires raging in the dock area. A second formation, sent to attack objectives in the Andaman Islands, was forced to return as the result of bad weather.
  The Tenth Air Force also released delayed reports of bomber missions on Jan. 26 and 27. The first mission against Myitnge bridge, which the Japs are trying desperately to repair, resulted in suspension of work and probable hits on the southern approaches. The second mission against the railroad yards at Mandalay reported direct hits on warehouses and among rolling stock.
  No personnel or aircraft casualties were sustained on any of these operations.


  Recently found remnants of Japanese planes damaged in the vicinity of Yunnanyi on Jan.16, have increased the total of enemy losses to 12 for the operation and have given further striking evidence of the superior skill and daring of the Tenth Air Force.
  This, in substance, was the announcement made by Brig. Gen. Clayton Bissell at his press conference this week.
  "We admitted the loss of one plane in the operation, so that the score was 12 to 1," declared Bissell, lending further weight to his earlier statement that the result of the battle is the Allies' next best victory in the C.B.I. Theater.
  The CATF registered the score at which other operations have been striving to surpass when it swatted 23 confirmed and seven probables out of the air on Nov. 24, over Canton.
  In announcing the "bag" of 12 Jap planes, Gen. Bissell was emphatic. "Those are absolutely, positively confirmed," he said.
  A sharp denial of the Japanese radio broadcast giving figures of American losses in Rangoon was made by the general. To the press he remarked hotly: "In the last few days in two separate radio broadcasts the Japanese have described the destruction of American bomber aircraft in attacks on Rangoon. We have lost no aircraft in those operations. Some of your co-workers of the press have been at our airdromes when these missions were dispatched and they know the planes came back."
  Bissell also shot gaping holes in the Japanese claim that American bombs hit a hospital ship at Rangoon. He reported that the Nip statements are probably without basis in fact, for the ship listed as the

Marvin Leaves For New Teeth

  Pfc. Marvin Collins this week began traveling in a direction which he hopes will eventually lead him to a set of teeth.
Pfc. Marvin Collins

  Shortly after the ink had dried on last week's Roundup, which carried the story of Marvin's 14 months of toothless Army service, arrangements were made to send Marvin to an East Indian seaport base in an effort to fit him with dental replacements.
  If nothing can be done at the first stop to get Collins off that soup, mashed potatoes and gravy diet, he'll probably wind up back in the States - at least long enough to get the G.I. biters.
  Marvin's parting statement was: "I hope to be able to fight this war booth tooth and nail."
hospital ship is not shown that way in the official Japanese Merchant Ship Manual. The vessel, the "Arabia Maru," might have been converted into a hospital unit, but the Japs weaken the fabric of this premise by claiming the attack was made at the dock by our bombers while their loads that day were dropped on an incoming ship several miles above Rangoon.
  The general gave it as his opinion that the Japanese were simply striving to present normal operations of the American forces in a light most favorable for Japanese purposes.
  In an "off-the-record" showing, Gen. Bissell allowed the reporters to look at official pictures of air raids to prove that the reports of the 10th Air Force are conservative and that the command is in a position to confirm all statements made.
  Two of the pictures vividly showed the successful bombing of Japanese airfields.
  Another photograph showed considerable damage to the important Mandalay railroad shops. Another of damage to train sheds in Maymyo. And still another of damage to the Thazi junction.
  Concerning this last operation, the general reported that the bullseyes were scored by a pilot separated from his formation. Said Bissell: "His instructions were to pick any railroad target available if he did not meet his objective. This (pointing to the photo) is what he saw. That's his target. A piece of open line on a bend, and that's what he did to it."
  The general described a picture of the attack on the Myitnge Bridge as one of the most important of the group. This bridge was destroyed by the British when they left Burma but the Japs repaired it and used it. The pictorial evidence presented to the correspondents showed the span in the river.

Hospital Waging All-Out Campaign Against Chasers

  Harassed Dr. Lapping, superintendent of a refugee hospital in Assam, is stoutly resisting an all-out soldier offensive on the nurses on duty, but sees succor in view.
  Hope that the determined siege will be lifted came in the form of a memorandum by Col. Homer L. Sanders of an American fighter group.
  Opening strongly with the remark that the hospital has complained that soldiers are making a nuisance of themselves in their stern chase of the nurses, Col. Sanders continued significantly:
  "Gurka guards posted to protect the hospital are all for shooting the next man who attempts to enter the area without invitation. I have asked him (Dr. Lapping) to request the Gurkas to hold their fire until men have been duly warned. Have further requested that on next instance of trespass, the offender be taken into custody instead of being shot, in order he may be given a fair trail."
  Col. Sanders' postscript is trenchant:
  "There is no assurance this will be done."

Per Diem Lads Introduced To Ersatz Cruller
  Taking the job as "caterers" literally, the civilian outfit which puts out chow for the per diem hounds at this East India headquarters recently labored and brought forth Indian versions of (a) doughnuts, and (b) the Great American hotcake, or flapjack. Proceeding without such minor items of wherewithal as baking powder and with only the hazy directions of pastry fans whose talents were all in the consumer's line, the bawarchis turned out an ersatz cruller which for sheer weight-per-unit-volume and greasiness has never been matched. The troops tasted, gagged, grinned weakly and conceded the head cook "A" for effort.
  The noble experiment in the hotcake department only proved that a chupati by any other name is still inedible, for all its attractive, pale yellow, waxy appearance. Sgt. Don Burrows of Van Buren ("Missouri, not Arkansas") who as mess superintendent is official browbeater-in-chief of the bearers, invited no comments and issued no statements on the baking debacle, but looked the other way and hollered at "Sabu" to bring in more hot coffee.

  On the credit side was the arrival in the P-X of tons of beer and cigarettes to gladden the hearts of all whose vices are only minor. Pfc. Robert "Stinkah" Boyle, the genial babu of the canteen, began dispensing at 7 o'clock that evening, and by eight bells it was "Zero-zero" in the barracks, a dense fog of cigarette smoke obscuring the empty beer cans which lay knee-deep on the floor.
  Focal point in the melee of maltiness and mother songs was the ice-box with its huge padlock, wherein the brew attained the proper temperature before meeting an untimely death. Key man in the setup was Corp. Bernard Hoekstra, the "Keeper of the (ice-box) Keys," who, when asked for a statement late in the evening could only reply "I intend to fight it out on this front if it takes all summer."

  Gives finally with a hard luck story: it shouldn't happen to Hitler. Pvt. Rudolph Martinez, the happy "Swoose" started by having a run-in with the newly-instituted military gendarmes in town: "All I did was call 'em a bunch of ree-croots." For this he was allowed to remain "at home" for ten days. Then, on his first day of freedom, he sailed forth to the races, laden with rupees and filled with feed bag "sure things" - and got taken down the hill by the deceitful ponies.
  Now, broken in purse and spirit, he's down at the local hospital, where, on the advice of his family physician, our boy is eating sulfanilamide tablets like candy. Woe is he.

  The following program will be broadcast from Delhi over the All India Radio, 85.84 meters and 31.3 meters:
  Tuesday, Feb, 9, 9:45 p.m. - "Your Broadway and Mine" starring Frank Cravan, Gertrude Leisen, Milton Berle, Phil Silvers and Jimmy Mewell.
  Wednesday, Feb. 10, 10:00 p.m. - "Yank Swing Session" with Kay Kyser's orchestra.
  Tuesday, Feb, 16, 9:45 p.m. - "Your Broadway and Mine" starring Elsie Janis, Kitty O'Neill, Shaw & Lee, Edward G. Robinson, Eddie Foy, Jr., and York & King.
  Wednesday, Feb. 17, 9:45 p.m. - "Yank Swing Session" with Tommy Riggs and Betty Lou.
  Tuesday, Feb, 23, 9:45 p.m. - "Downbeat" with Freddie Martin.
  Wednesday, Feb. 24, 9:45 p.m. - "Yank Swing Session" with Tommy Riggs and Betty Lou.
  Each Sunday, from 9:30 p.m. to 10:00 p.m., XGOY Chungking will broadcast music, news, and sports on6,135 kilocycles on the 49 meter band. Name shows will be added as soon as transcriptions arrive.
Corp. Arny Schwartz wrote home suggesting a nice, big letter.  His brother took him literally and sent him this - 34 by 44 inches in page size.  T/Sgt. Shy Greenspan helps Schwartz hold the huge piece of mail.

May I tell you a little story
About a private such as I
Course there are others like me
For ratings is their cry.
I have yet to be a non-com
But every dog has his day
I still wonder just how come
No ratings get this way.
If I but knew the string to pull
Could someone inform this dope?
I'd give it a hell-of-a pull
Then sit back - wait and hope.
But waiting and hoping is all I've done
And nothing as yet has happened
So "get on the ball" please! someone
Stripes on these arms start slappin'
If we're not fit for couple of stripes
I guess this is all in vain
But I'll carry on with these few gripes
And you'll hear from me again.
I would like an answer to this plea
If you could call it as such
Explain the reason to poor little me
Oh! it would help so much!
Well fellow privates, so long for now
I hope that I am understood
This is the only way I know how
That could do us any good.

Here's to the meat we all damn
That awful stuff - it's called "Spam."
They bake it - they fry it
We take it - then try it
Then we cuss and we curse
Everyday it gets worse.
Some days they take this Spam
Bake it with pineapple, call it ham,
We can't be fooled, it's Spam.
Sometime they'll run out, we build up our hopes
But they never do. Boy are we dopes.
If they'd ship us some steaks or chops or lamb
But it's always the same old thing, it's Spam.
Now that I've got this poem out of my head
I'll go to chow for chicken, or maybe Spam instead.
Would someone like to second the motion
That al Spam belongs at the bottom of the ocean?

This notice was posted
In the company street"
"There's danger lurking
Right under your feet."
That while you are working
There're demons at play
To give you a greeting
When you hit the hay.
These scorpions seem small
When they're there to behold
But if you're not alert
Your toes they'll grab hold.
It's said they like dark spots
Such as inside your bed
So take a look-see
Before covering your head.
Their next choice is shoes
Of the type G.I.
Put your feet in with them
And you'll jump sky high.
Get out little scorpion
Get out of my shoes
There's surely not room enough
For me and for you'se.
The same applies
To my own little bed
And so I repeat
Get Out! Enough said.
Now don't get me wrong
You're all right in your place.
But when we're together
What we need is SPACE.
- Corp. G. L. DUGAN

Recovering in a New York hospital, J. B. Powell, editor and publisher of the "Ninth China Weekly Review" in Shanghai, writes a letter to a friend.  Lack of food and medical attention, during his internment by the Japs, caused the loss of both of Powell's feet.

Col. Clinton D. (Casey) Vincent, 28, is one of the youngest men in the U.S. Army to hold that rank. He's executive officer of Brig. Gen. Chennault's China Air Task Force.
Brig. Gen. Caleb V. Haynes, commanding general of the India Air Task Force, is seen with H.E., the Governor of Bengal, J. A. Herbert, during the latter's visit to air bases under Haynes command.

Strictly G.I.

Dear Editor:
  Having read the Roundup thoroughly each time it is distributed and enjoyed all the articles submitted by both your staff and also the fellows. I feel prompted to kind of enter into the spirit of the thing, and add my little bit. I am not an experienced writer, but as far as I am capable I would like to jot down some thoughts that are on my mind.
  I have been in these "Salaam Sahib" and "No tickee, no shirtee" parts of the world for quite a while, as most of us have been, and certainly no one could be more anxious to return to the :good ole states" than I. More times than is practical, I find myself dreaming of movie shows that have no intermissions between each reel, of delicious cokes, or what have you concocted by pretty girls (also the pretty girls), and of writing letters that do not have to be censored. Yes, I long for home, but since I am unable to get there at present - well, there's nothing to do but to make the best of it here.
  Thinking along these lines in one of my more thoughtful moments, I wondered exactly what it was that made things as endurable as they are, considering how much of our normal lives we have left behind us, and I came to the conclusion, which is not in the least bit new or startling, that it is our buddies. The friendly and familiar faces, the encouraging words, the wholesome scraps, and the little jokes - all of these things that fill so many of the gaps which have opened up due to circumstances beyond our control (of course you can't guess what). My buddies do their share of bridging those gaps for me, but do I do the same for them? This was the main trend of my self-analysis, and I have to admit that I found myself wanting.
  And so I decided to make a point of reminding myself often that I do have a little responsibility toward those about me, and that it will make things easier for them, as well as myself, if I keep the Mr. Hyde part of me somewhat submerged. I have to live with them, and they have to live with me, so while we're at it, we might just as well make it one "helluva" good time.
  This is it, Mr. Editor, and even if it does not measure up to your requirements, thanks for your time.        - S/Sgt. John E. Manola.

Tough Luck Keeps Trailing Pvt.;
Narrow Escapes, Too

  Ever since an Indian sooth-sayer predicted ill luck for him, Pvt. Jim Osterhaut has been having a tough go of things. Osterhaut first bruised his shin in the daily stampede of "chowhounds" for the mess hall, then a night of two later fell in a slit trench and narrowly avoiding breaking his neck. As if that weren't enough, bad luck continued to pile up on him. Among other recent misfortunes were drawing guard and KP in quick succession, the phonograph breaking down in the midst of his favorite recording, and last but not least, his inability to hit safely at least once for the softball team, of which he is captain. All of which leads the irrepressible Osterhaut to wonder "What next?" . . . Brooklyn Alphonse D'Auria, who has been giving the native women an eyeful of his manly physique ever since making his debut in a pair of home-made shorts, ran into two former schoolmates during the recent arrival of a contingent of new men. To say he was surprised is to put it mildly. Explained Al, in his best Brooklynese: "Hell, we didn't only go to school - we used to swipe stuff together when we were kids."
  Under his apparently impenetrable hide, a soldier is the most tender-hearted and considerate individual in the world. Take for illustration the case of Pvts. Tom Broughall, Henry Lowendick and Morton Albright. The three, in order to provide a mate for a pet duck that has been making his home on one of the base's lagoons, volunteered to give up their share of an approaching duck dinner if one of the "prospective victims" be spared for this purpose. The mess officer, Capt. Southworth obligingly gave his okay so now the ducks are two and everyone is happy. (P.S. The three lads kept their part of the bargain, although it wasn't necessary) . . . Sgt. Trailwick, over at squadron supply, has just about given up hope of teaching his pet parrot to talk. After weeks of intensive drill in words ranging from "Polly wants a cracker" to "damnit," all the bird can say is "Huh" and Trailwick is threatening to get a crow in his stead. . . Sgts. Arnold Harms and John Mathewson have dreamed for a long time of some day going monkey shooting. They recently had their opportunity, but, after bagging 10, they were very remorseful. Explained Harms: "No more monkey shooting for us. Why, it was almost like shooting little kids, they way they tumbled out of the trees."
  Although just completed, the squadron's new "little theater" has already been the scene of two amateur talent shows, both of which were attended by capacity audiences. The theater, utilizing part of the mess hall, is now the pride of the squadron and is one of the finest little showhouses in the region. Equipped for motion pictures, it is awaiting arrival of a new projector and films. The transformation from mess hall to theater was accomplished principally by Pvts. Earl Lehman, Derrell Knight, Claude Staudt and Judson Reynolds. . . Sgt. Henry Rawlings still hasn't forgotten this one. While back in the States, he once was delivering a talk on proper gun care to a group of green recruits. Noticing an uninterested sleeper in the audience, he asked him if he was so familiar with the gun that he could afford to sleep, adding for emphasis, "Maybe you'd like to come up here and finish this lecture." The reply perceptibly reddened his face. "I think I can," the man drawled. "I've been making that type gun for 13 years." . . . Reflecting on air raids and resultant casualties, Pvt. William Boering the other day opined that enemy bombers could wreak havoc with the squadron personnel by simply dropping their loads on the new latrines at any time during working hours. "They're just like club-houses," he remarked. . . Remener "Fibber" McGee and Molly? Well, Pfc. Charlie Greenle writes to a Molly McGee, only this one lives in Bethel, Ohio, and apparently is of considerable heart interest to the good-natured little cook.

Members of a U.S. headquarters in Eastern India show off some of the treasure after the PX came through with a big ration of beer and cigarettes on the same day.  The guy at the right who can't wait to get started is Pvt. Joseph Bernas.

Soldiers Blame Pyromaniac
  Well, well, this outfit is finally becoming recognized by the powers that be, etc. We now live in real honest-to-goodness barracks - the best, too. Of course, there are a few minor items to be installed yet, such as electric lights and hot and cold running water in each room, and possibly cushioned furniture, but all this comes later - much later I fear. "Can't have the cake and eat it too, they say."
  No foolin' boys, it is certainly a relief to go to bed with the secure feeling that when you wake up in the early dawn you'll be all by yourself instead of finding all types of reptiles asleep beside you as it used to be in our good old tents.
  Now we know why our wives and gal friends haven't written to us. The point is they have, but some pyromaniac somehow got going, according to Corp. "Rink" Miracle, the detachment mail orderly, who turned up at the orderly room with a handful of badly scorched sugar reports. There wasn't much to read in them, but what few words could be doped out gave us a faint ray of hope that we are not really forgotten, and that more endearments are on the way.

  Talk about potential "Shavetails," we have them. The hopefuls called-in to take their 63's (physical to you. chum), are yours truly, Sgt. C. E. Gilliland, Corp. M. L. Trepp, and Corp. J. W. Newman. Let's hope the doc didn't go out of his way to find anything wrong. He had a kind face, anyway.
  Maj. Paul Droz, squadron commander, is at present our guest. He returns to us for a short while from the scenes of action, of which he's seen plenty. We all wish we were up there with him and the rest of the gang.
  Another item of interest to your reporter is the fact that the boys don't have to go to town anymore to get gypped out of their eye teeth in the purchase of those beautiful glittering white sapphires, blue ones, not to mention all the rest of the "precious gems."
  The shop has moved out here, glass and all.
  This organization feels that there has been a grave injustice done when Corporal Gee Eye's Commanding Officer busted him. Is something going to be done about it? Regards from this bunch to the rest of our boys elsewhere.

  Seems that sex has reared its ugly (?) head among the boys of this air depot's message center.
  Prior to the coming of the new girl operators, all was peace and harmony. But since the females have taken over the switchboard, orders have been issued boarding up the switchboard room so the boys in the cryptographic room next door couldn't come over and pass the time of the day now and then, if you know what I mean.
  One of our officers' tents burned down the other night. Enlisted men nearby enjoyed mightily the sight of captains and lieutenants running around in their shorts and underwear fighting it, particularly one second lieutenant who had himself adorned in silk pajamas. Oh, my!
  The signal boys are thinking of asking Headquarters to issue a special order telling the chaplain to give personal attention to the woes of a certain sergeant. Seems he returns from town every night, slightly lubricated, and recites to all near and far, sleeping or not, his lament at not being back in the States to play with his two-month old baby.
  Also, there is a certain corporal, who will definitely be affected by the new restrictions on packages. It seems he's always around when other guys' packages arrive to get his share, but when his comes, the boys get the well-known business.
  Congrats to Corp. Jimmy Richie and his "Jive-Bombers," new Air Depot band just getting into full swing. And when we say "swing," that's what we mean because Jimmy and his boys specialize in beatin' it out, but good. In the lineup of the group are Pvt. Jack Spreckler, piano; S/Sgt. John Augustine, guitar; Pvt. Wayne Simpson, trombone; Pvt. Gordon Herman, Corp. Al Keefe and Sgt. Evan Francis, sax section; Corp. Jimmy Fugert, drums; and Corp. Dave Wickstorm, bass. The band, sponsored by Capt. William E. Baker, special services officer, had its first appearance in front of the enlisted men the other night before the movies, and received a hearty welcome.

Proving the foot, like the hand, is sometimes quicker than the eye, the soccer team of the HQ Squadron, 10th Air Force, edged Irwin Hospital this week, 2-1. Meet the victors: Front row left to right, J. Tricker, I. E. Evans, D. Blanshard, K. Swann, I. Clingan, G. Fisher; rear row, F. Bell, N. Van Hevele, L. Sanders, W. Byrdine, S. Salak, G. R. Reed, D. M. Leonard.
 A.F. Wins 2-1 Soccer Game

  Headquarters Squadron of the 10th Air Force battled its way to victory Sunday in a hard-fought, spectacular soccer game which ended in the defeat of Irwin Hospital by the score of 2 to 1.
  The game was distinguished by the excellent goal-kicking of Pvt. Steve Salak and Sgt. Tricker.
  The novice boxing team is being whipped into shape these last few days as the training period for the boxing meet draws to its close. Representing the feather-weight class is Corp. General McClellan, as tough a little fighter as his military namesake. Fighting as a lightweight is 135-pound Pvt. Felix Thomas, who means to punch all opposition into submission. Pvt. Harold Ratliff, and Pfc. Rudy Guerra are the welterweight warriors who are ready to strut their stuff in the squared circle, with Corps. Frank Dupree, Walter Kowalsky, Scarbinsky and Daufin rounding out the medium, light heavyweight and heavyweight groups.


Hail to the golden eagle overhead
Soaring high in the midnight blue -
Over land and sea, bringing victory.
With the might of the right and true.

Men of the air, keep 'em flying everywhere
Contact U.S.A.
Men on the wing, make the bells of freedom ring
Contact U.S.A.

Riding high like birds in the sky
Zoom together - never mind the stormy weather
Answer the call, all for one and one for all
Contact U.S.A.

Laundry Walla Politely Balks
  A catchy, rollicking tune many of the boys are humming and singing these days is Pvt. Roy Brodsky's "Contact U.S.A." which has been unofficially adopted by the squadron as its very own.
  The song, written since Brodsky joined the A.A.F., has been warmly received wherever it has been played or sung and both officers and men who have heard it have been generous in their praise.
  A native of Brooklyn, Brodsky is the composer of a number of other songs, several of which have been featured by well-known American dance bands. His "Candle Burning Blue," "You and the Red White and Blue," "Woman in the Shoe" and "Reasonable Facsimile" are all talented works.
  Being a composer as well as a comedian of considerable ability, Brodsky was naturally trained in the A.A.F. as a mechanic.
  The lyric of "Contact U.S.A. is at right.
  According to a letter which Corp. Jack MacArdle recently received, back in the States new applicants (voluntary or otherwise) in Uncle Sam's forces do not have their eyes examined as part of the physical test. The doctors only count 'em.

These resourceful members of an Army Post Office in East India go about the very difficult job of identifying and forwarding a batch of burned mail to points in this Theater.  The mail, bearing postmarks of last July, was forwarded from Africa with a statement that it had been salvaged from a plane crash.  The APO guys are in there slugging all the time, and if you don't get mail, don't blame them.  Left to right: Corp. George J. Beirne, Lt. William D. Moran, S/Sgt. Harry W. Case, S/Sgt. Rufus T. Eaton, Lt. Franklin L. Webb.

  TIMEPIECE TROUBLE - The story is making the rounds of this Headquarters Squadron about Capt. Moses, who visited this station and made a tour of the Jantar Mantar Observatory, a huge, block-long sun dial, centuries old. The Captain's guide, eager to demonstrate the continued practicality of using the Jantar Mantar, volunteered to figure out the exact time for the visitor, with the final reckoning coming out just twenty minutes slower than the hour shown on the face of the officer's excellent wristwatch. This precipitated a vehement discussion as each argued vociferously in favor of his pet timepiece; the American finally leaving unconvinced. However, on his return to Headquarters, the slight doubt remaining in his mind caused him to check with the Message Center clock. To his intense chagrin and embarrassment, he discovered that his watch was exactly twenty minutes too fast.
  GOOD-WILL NOTE - Kooloo Ram, who pays 50 Rupees monthly for his shoemaker concession at the Barracks, has regularly been turning in 65 Rupees. This month he forced 115 Rupees upon Lt. Bartlina - "For the War Effort," he explained.
  YOO HOO, CUTIE! - Pvt. (No hopes, he says) Jack Abelow, who just came to this station from an Indian seaport base, wrote to one of the friends he left behind. However, by some cruel quirk of fate, he made the mistake of enclosing a letter meant for a girl in West Palm Beach whom he had never seen. Gene Pierone, the friend who received the misdirected letter, was up in arms this week for the letter read: "Hello there. I know you must be surprised to hear from me. But I'm sure you won't mind for I am a big handsome fellow - weight 157 pounds - have brown hair and blue eyes... I haven't danced for a year, but from all glowing reports on your voluptuous terpsichorean style, I would like to trip the light fantastic with you some day." Bat him down, Gene.
  FENSOM REPORT - When Corp. Howard Fensom was in the hospital, he boasted to Corp. Reggie Ward: "I'll bet I get out of here first." "Baloney, one rupee worth," replied Ward. "O.K.," continued Fensom, "A rupee bet it is, but I'll win. I just heard that you have 'sugar.' That gives you one week of observation and at least a 30-day penalty for hoarding. So pay up, brother!"


  Pfc. Marvin Collins, the local G.I. "gummer," has touched our collective heart!
  Last week we announced that he was operating sans bicuspids - yes even cuspids - and had been, for 14 months.
  Teeth, thinks the Roundup, even "biters detachable," are one of life's necessities the utility of which should not be foregone even during times of world conflict. We think that Collins should quite rightly have lost a good deal of his former enthusiasm for fighting and dying for his country after more than a year on calories derived exclusively from soup and mashed potatoes - not that soup and mashed potatoes aren't attractive when surrounded by such things as Lobster Newburgh, New York cuts and corn on the cob.
  It was probably our mental picture of Collins' frustration before corn on the cob that caused us to launch our campaign to get him a set of teeth. Imagine, if you can, the expression on his face if he were to be suddenly confronted with a steaming platter of Golden bantam replete with melted butter and proper salt!
  There, gentle readers, would be frustration incarnate!
  Sooo, something had to be done. It was time for a little more "fearless journalism," and anyway, we've never been able to hang anything really good on the Medical Corps until now.
  The original story and picture of Collins making a "Popeye" face brought a virtual flood of mail demanding that the lad be given teeth or a reasonable facsimile thereof. One letter suggested that should no teeth be available that a meat-grinder be furnished. Two packages of vitamin pills came in. Letters demanding that certain members of the Dental Corps be tarred and feathered were referred to the Judge Advocate in an effort to determine whether such restitution is covered either in Regulations or the Articles of War.
  The judge, we regret to say, felt that such treatment, though undoubtedly merited, would only result in messing up the recipients, who are already messed enough.
  The only way to fully present Marvin's case to an already eager public is through the medium of pictures. Collins, naturally, is enthusiastic about the whole thing.
  "I think the Roundup can do something for me," he said.
  Certain people, however, with more than an academic interest in this matter, were a bit allergic to this idea, hence we found it necessary to do a cartoon this week to fill out an otherwise rather scanty layout. (Sgt. Nolan, incidentally, absolutely knocked himself out working on his false teeth cartoon.)
  The story now is that Collins has gone to a base hospital in Western India for a general checkup and possibly a set of ivories to enhance a countenance which he insists is currently shunned by women of all nationalities.
  Should the search for dentures in the West prove fruitless, Collins will then be sent back to the States where there will doubtless be a meeting of the dental minds in that great land of plates, bridges, dentifrices and "Pink Toothbrush."
  In conclusion, should there be any other G.I.'s short on anything from teeth to teething rings just write the Roundup. Tell us your troubles. We're all a bunch of Dorothy Dix's at heart.
  We'll campaign for you, chums, not because we love you but because we'd rather hang something on somebody than spend a Kashmir week-end with Rita Hayworth.

The C.B.I. Roundup is a weekly newspaper published by and for the men of the United States Army Forces in China, Burma, and India, from news and pictures supplied by staff members, soldier correspondents, Office of War Information and other sources. The Roundup is published Thursday of each week and is printed by The Statesman in New Delhi, India. Editorial matter should be sent directly to Lieut. Clancy Topp, Rear Echelon Hq., U.S.A.F. C.B.I., New Delhi, and should arrive not later than Monday in order to make that week's issue. Pictures must arrive by Sunday and must be negatives or enlargements. Stories should contain full name and organization of sender.

FEBRUARY  4,  1943  

Adapted from the original issue of CBI Roundup

Copyright © 2009 Carl Warren Weidenburner